(the apple bags are paper and commonly rip, so we offer to tie a plastic bag around it in case it rips.)
Me: Do you want the apples in a bag?
Customer: What? It’s in a bag (gestures to bag).
Me:I know but it could rip and you’re apples might fall out
Customer: That’s ridiculous! This bag is perfectly fine!
Me:Okay, have a nice day..
(customer picks up the bag, it rips, and all the apples fall on the ground)
Me: And that’s why we use bags

Talked to a crazy person from Illinois.
(customer) ‘Where are you located?
(me) ‘We’re about 10 miles north of the Iowa border”
(customer) ” I haven’t heard of that; is the somewhere up North?”
(me) ……..”The state of Iowa”

In college I worked at a farm that gave horseback riding lessons. At the time I was cleanshaven and had lip piercings. This exchange with a student’s mother and grandmother happened one day while I was waiting for a lesson to end so my boss could hand the children over to me for help putting their ponies away.
Student’s Grandmother: “Don’t those hurt??”
Me: “Huh? Oh! The piercings? They hurt a bit to get, but they’ve long since healed and I don’t even feel them anymore.”
Grandmother: “But how do you put on lipstick?”
Me: (Not catching the implication) “I…don’t? Why would I be putting on lipstick?”
Grandmother: “You can’t possibly go around in those barn clothes all the time! You must put on makeup when you’re dressing up for things.”
Me: (Finally getting it) “Oh! No. No, ma’am. I’m a boy. I don’t wear makeup.”
Student’s Mother: “You’re a boy and you ride horses?!”
Me: “Yup! Bit of a minority, but we exist.”
Mother: “Are you gay or something?”
Me: “I am, but it’s funny that people assume that. I do a sport where I’m surrounded by athletic women in tight pants all the time; you’d think people would assume I was straight!”
Grandmother: “Are you REALLY a boy?”
Me: “Yes. Yes I am.”
Grandmother: “Like, for real? You’re not one of those girls going through a phase of wearing her boyfriend’s clothing?”
Me: “…I guarantee I’m 100% male.”
(Thankfully the children got off their ponies just then and saved me from continuing the conversation.)

(My parents are farmers who do all of their livestock processing on-site. Since things normally slow down with our livestock during the winter, we use our state-certified processing facility to take on deer processing, where hunters who do not have the proper equipment to butcher the deer themselves will bring me their deer, which I butcher and package as specified by the hunter, for a fee. I run the deer processing. However, we do get a lot of calls from people wanting us to process their poultry as well. One day, I am lounging in the house with my boyfriend when our dogs herald the arrival of someone at the carport. My boyfriend goes out to see who it is and after a moment I hear an unfamiliar voice. Assuming it is a customer asking about our poultry or other services, I go outside to see if I can help the customer. I walk outside to see a man, probably in his late thirties, chatting with my boyfriend.)

Me: “Hello, sir. How can I help you?”

Customer: “I was wonderin’ if y’all can process my chickens.”

Me: “Yes, sir, we can. When would you need them processed?”

(I continue to ask him the basic questions and answer his but I notice that he keeps addressing my boyfriend with his questions and will hardly look at me.)

Customer:*addressing my boyfriend* “I saw y’all had a deer processing sign out here last year. I usually take my deer into [not-so-nearby town], but y’all are less than a mile from me.”

Me:*getting a bit irritated* “Yes, sir, that’s right. I run the deer processing.”

(I felt like I needed to add that last bit since he obviously thought my boyfriend knew more about the business, despite, prior to me stepping out, him telling the man that he did not know much about the business end of the farm. Turns out the guy used to live on the farm a while back — my parents purchased it three years ago — and, still addressing my boyfriend, starts to go on about all the hunting he’s done on the property.)

Customer: “I could give you some good tips on the best hunting spots!”

(My boyfriend does not hunt and has never fired a gun in his life.)

Me: “Well, my favorite spot is that back field. I got quite a few back there last year.”

Customer:*in disbelief* “A girl hunter! You don’t see that everyday.”

(Now, women hunting is not uncommon. What. So. Ever. Besides that, one would think that he would figure I hunt if I run the facility. Anyhow, the man continues asking questions about the facility, STILL ADDRESSING MY BOYFRIEND (who looked very uncomfortable). I was not sorry to see him leave. The real kicker is, the place where he was saying he took his deer was quite a ways away when, even before we opened our facility, there is a processing facility in the next town over. That facility is run by, you guessed it, a woman.)

(I working at my friend’s family farm. It’s my second summer on the farm, and I’ve pretty much learned how to run a stand by myself. We have five stands operating in different counties, but I am at the main stand which sees a lot more regular customers than the others, since this stand is more permanent; it’s a building and not a stall in a farmer’s market. One of our “regulars” comes up to me, calm but a little irate.)

Me: “Good afternoon, ma’am! How can I help you today?”

Customer: “I’m here because last week I purchased a watermelon and it didn’t taste good. I’d like a new one.”

Me:*immediately apologetic, because while the pickers do a good job sorting and hauling the watermelons, and I do a good job grading them, sometimes things get missed in the shuffle* “I’m so sorry! Was it rotten, or not ripe enough?”

Customer: “No. It wasn’t rotten, and it was ripe, but it didn’t taste good. I have been a loyal customer here for years, and I deserve a free watermelon!”

Me: “Wait, let me get this straight. The watermelon was perfectly fine, but you didn’t like how it tasted?”

Customer: “Exactly, yes. So I should get a free one.”

Me: “Ma’am, we’re taught how to check for ripeness, or signs it’s gone bad, but there is literally no way to tell how a watermelon, or any fruit tastes before you cut it open. I’m not allowed to give out free things unless the produce you originally bought was bad.”

Customer: “I’ve known your boss for years! I’ve been a loyal customer here, and I deserve a free watermelon.”

Me:*quickly losing patience* “Let me just call my boss and see what she says.”

(This woman proceeds to talk at me the entire time I’m dialing and speaking with my boss, who runs the farm and clearly has better things to do. My boss reiterates the policy and finally informs me this woman is not getting a free watermelon just because she didn’t like how hers tasted.)

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but my boss said I can’t give you a free watermelon. Perhaps a discount?”

Customer: “I don’t want a discount. I should get a free watermelon!”

Me:*firmly* “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Customer:*with a pitying expression* “Then your boss just lost a loyal customer.”